


The First Time Always Hurts

by Eureka234



Series: I Couldn't Tell if You Were Blessed or Cursed [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Dom/sub, Drabble, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Foreplay, No Smut, Origin Story, POV Original Character, Power Play, Prompt Fic, Undecided Relationship(s), Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 22:40:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9145390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eureka234/pseuds/Eureka234
Summary: It wouldn't be an evening in Faith's house without some power play and mockery. Sometimes the insults cut too deep. Slightly NSFW. Fits in the timeline for my Samson origin fic.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Schattenriss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattenriss/gifts).



> My beta for my Samson Inquisitor fic Schattenriss misread something I wrote as "Faith sitting on the mantle". I thought it sounded hilarious so it became a writing prompt. Thanks to his help for the title inspiration. Happy new year!

The first time always hurts

Though tonight you'll see

It hurts even more the last time

One last time

I remember your promises

Your lies will take their toll

I remember your promises

Tonight, you'll lose me for the last time. 

- Beim ersten Mal tut's immer weh, Oomph! 

 

“Princess,” Samson crawled over to her and rolled onto his back, “How’d you get up there?”

Faith was seated on top of the kitchen bench like it was a throne. Her shoes would catch alight if the flames licked any higher from the fireplace below. She peered down at him, impassive.

He probably had no memory of drinking the wine and snorting lyrium in quick succession. Now he merely looked like a doe eyed puppy, wanting it's tummy scratched. Cute, yes, but not something she was permitted to have.

Faith however did not care for cute frivolities. At least, not to squeal over them. Only an idiot openly displayed how much one adored another.

“How?” she repeated, “what a mystery. How did you get down there?”

Samson chuckled, “I can see your knickers from here.”

“What tragedy,” Faith said. That was foolish. It was impossible to see them from any angle. He was teasing her, so she’d irritate him, “I can't see your cock from here. Whatever happened to it?”

“You’re lying, Faith,” Samson grumbled, “you are just trying to make me have a reaction.”

‘Trying to make me react’, she corrected internally. He was right, of course. Samson was very clever. But even more susceptible in this state.

“No. Your drunkenness is entertainment enough.” She smiled and leaned over, to make him feel small. “Would you like to make your princess happy?”

“Yeah,” Samson slurred, grinning, and then he looked irritated at himself. “I mean, I have better people to make happy.”

“That's a shame. Princess can't be good to you then.”

“I don't care!” Samson retorted.

What bullshit. He definitely cared.

“That is quite fine. It does not bother me.”

She pulled off one of her fancy shoes and dropped it on his chest. He looked at it confused.

“This is a token of my pity of you,” she decided and took off her other heel. She dropped it on his head, and smirked that he didn't have the reaction time to evade it, “this is my gratitude for your patience.”

Samson kissed that shoe and put it to the side with a smug grin, “What about tolerating you, and being kind?”

“When have you ever done that?”

She knew but wanted to see what Samson would say.

“I do help you with cooking and the dishes, I get lyrium for you.”

“I did ask you to do that,” Faith reminded him, “You do it out of necessity. That's not kindness.”

Samson continued to talk like he wasn't listening, “...I keep you company, I cuddle you when you want… no, when you _need_ ,” he glared knowingly at her, eyes bloodshot.

“I asked you to do that too.”

“You loved it. You are a cuddler, Faith. Don't hide it!” Samson jeered.

“You do it out of obligation. So I don't care.”

“You dream at night that I hold you, i swear!” Samson started to raise his voice now.

“Good luck proving that,” Faith said calmly.

 _“I want Samson to crush me with his cuddles_!” Samson taunted, in a high pitched voice that sounded nothing like Faith. “ _I need his arms around me. I hurt thinking ‘bout it._ _I’m a lonely, bitter wench… but i only want a hug -just one squishy hug- from Samson_.”

Faith avoided his eye. That bastard knew how to be mean. But she could be mean too..  in a nice way.

So she reached down to her legs and began to pull off her stockings, very happy that this ended Samson’s horrible imitation. He watched transfixed as they creased and bunched around her ankles. She pointed her toes and pushed the last of it off. Samson caught them.

“These are a token of my cunt,” she said, resisting the urge to jump off the kitchen bench top and press her toes onto his face, “Make of that what you will. If you're lucky they will even smell like me. But you won't know if that was a result of my work or from you.”

A darkness filled Samson's eyes, “Are you ordering me? You know now, I only please you out of obligation.”

“I’d like to see you prove me otherwise.”

“That's called ‘trust’, princess,” Samson said, and he moved so he was on his knees and ran his hands down her legs, “Not your favourite word, I know. But I can't prove to you I am being kind. You taught me there's no way to tell if people are genuine or not. You only have to give someone the benefit of the doubt. Where’s my show of mercy?”

“When I let you hold me,” Faith responded. It was not a game anymore, “Now prioritize the belongings i have trusted with you, and princess will be very eager to hear how you justify your answers.”

Samson sat back down on the ground, looking hateful, “You’ve given me a shit lotta toys to choose from.”

“Which one is missing?”

Samson took a careful look at the two shoes and the stockings, and after a while, like failing to find a piece to the contour of a puzzle muttered, “Nothing.”

While she watched him put all these objects in a line, glancing up at her every so often in a calculating way, Faith tried to figure out if he meant ‘There is nothing missing’ or ‘It’s nothing. Forget about it.”

But she adored him so much. He was so dedicated, even if he was just doing it because she asked. Maybe it was her favourite part about him. Most who followed orders gave up after a time. Samson didn't. He never willingly conceded, even pushed himself past the point of stupidity.

Faith couldn't help but twitch when Samson moved over the clothes and planted a kiss on her leg.

“What are you doing?’ she asked, surprising herself with the amount of dread in her voice. Fear overcame her, near terror.

Samson grinned, looking playful, “What you asked, princess.” He ran a hand up her leg and back down. “Prioritizing.”

Faith couldn't stop herself from smirking at the look of confidence in Samson’s eyes. How clever and flattering of him to choose _her_ above her pity, her appreciation or her cunt, not trophies or symbols.

 _I love you_ , she thought.

“You know how to find loopholes in rules,” she praised.

“Yes, I do,” Samson seemed extremely proud of himself. He stood to his feet and put his hands on her hips, “I justify it by the fact I am too impatient for you. I can tell you my other answers after.”

“You need to be more patient than that,” Faith reminded him, “but princess approves of your answer.” She ran her fingers over the top of his head and down to his neck, “Tell me how you want to have me. Every last detail, from the beginning until your dream is over.”

Samson looked away from her, most likely in embarrassment. For a split second before he did an inexplicable emotion filled his eyes. He had answered this question before, but this time it was more difficult. She wanted the entire story, not a vague idea. As he began to weave a tale, awkwardly and disjointed, Faith knew that for all her distance she could trust him to follow her orders.


End file.
